Chapter 12

The Sept at Riverrun: Tywin

If he had to be married a second time, and to a modern woman unfamiliar with the customs of the day, there was almost no better place than Riverrun, Tywin reflected as he entered the seven-sided building with his brothers by his side.

He was wearing Lannister red, of course, and carrying the wedding cloak with a roaring lion that would make Sansa a Lannister. He was surprised how right that name felt on his lips. They both knew she wasn't really a Tully, and she seemed much more lion, much more suited to his house than any other.

He'd have preferred, of course, to marry at Casterly Rock. To see the woman who was quickly coming to mean everything to him, in his Sept as they said their vows. Sansa was in her prime to become an excellent Lady Lannister and a true power player in the game of thrones.

But since he couldn't have that, Riverrun was an excellent second choice.

Before even arriving at the Sept, one had to make their way through an awe-inspiring garden that Hoster Tully had named after his late wife, Minisa. Inside the seven-sided sandstone building, there were images of the seven carved into marble. Airy stained glass windows cast rainbows of light around the building, giving it a warm and beautiful feel.

Tywin thought it would appeal to Sansa, and yet, he couldn't help but wish they were at his home. Saying vows to her there, where he'd wed his first wife when they'd been twenty-one, while bittersweet, would have been worth it.

But it was critical they marry and that nothing delay them, so he'd settle for getting married away from his home, in this place that was not his.

The nerves drumming through Tywin were something new, something it seemed only Sansa was capable of producing in him. He was well aware that he'd 'gatecrashed' this wedding in the most obvious way. Had he not shown up, outside Riverrun when he did, he had no idea whom Hoster might have married her off to - most likely Robert.

That thought alone made Tywin growl. The idea of that brute of man, pawing at Sansa, whom Tywin already viewed as his, enraged him.

The anticipation of claiming Sansa, of finally have her belong to him, had stolen his sleep last night. As he'd laid in his borrowed bedchambers, he had gone over all the differences between her and Joanna. He knew it to be unfair to both women, but he'd been unable to stop himself.

He could not recall this thrumming anticipation, this excitement, this sheer need, with Joanna, the way it was with Sansa, and he'd been a young man when they'd married. He'd have thought it would be the opposite, now that he was firmly settled into his role of Lord of Casterly Rock.

But alas, this was not the case.

Sansa consumed him, challenged him, enticed him and enthralled him. And she was unafraid of him, which was a heady aphrodisiac, Tywin had determined somewhere in the early morning hours.

He'd thought about what she knew for hours on end, things she'd let 'slip,' and things she'd already shared. There were things she desperately needed to share with him, including this Queen Sansa business that she'd brought up. She wasn't being obtuse, Tywin knew. In her place, he'd most likely do the same, so he could hardly blame her for not blurting everything out. This knowledge gave her some power, in a world where women had so little.

But it was that slip that she'd been obsessed with House Lannister, with him, that she'd wanted what he'd thought he and Joanna had, that had hooked Tywin in. He knew that now, upon reflection of their afternoon together.

Every single person in his life had needed him in some way or wanted him for something; his power, his wealth, his protection, his position. There was always a reason people sought out the Great Lion and it was most often motivated by self-interest for what he could do for them.

But Sansa simply wanted the man. She wanted him. She'd barely mentioned his gold and didn't seem to crave power – just wanted to be near him. It was staggering, the idea that she did not find him lacking, despite his many shortcomings that she eagerly pointed out over the past few days.

Sansa Stark, from the future, wanted to marry Tywin Lannister for no other reason than she was attracted to him, found him to be worthy and wanted him as her husband because of the love and devotion he'd given to another woman.

How could any man stay stoic and cold and distant in the face of such a declaration?

Indeed, even one like him could not.

For a brief moment, he wondered if he were making the same mistake his father had made when he'd taken Gerion's wet nurse as his mistress, allowing a common-born woman such an exalted placed at the Rock but had quickly dismissed the idea.

Even Kevan had confessed that knowing Sansa was not from this time had not changed his memory of her.

"She's as she's always been to me, Tywin. The firstborn daughter of Hoster Tully." Kevan had shrugged philosophically and ambled off after wishing Tywin good luck.

So Tywin was NOT acting like Tytos. He was marrying Sansa and keeping her safe. He was securing the family name. And she was worthy of the title Lady Lannister and hopefully, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms one day soon.

Beyond that, he simply wanted her, and Tywin was not a man that denied himself much of anything if it were within his power to achieve it. Whoever, whatever, had brought her back, had done them a great favour placing her in House Tully. It had made it so easy to secure this betrothal by giving Hoster Tully exactly what he wanted – a link to House Lannister.

Tywin was brought back to the present, in the Sept, by a grunt from Ned Stark. The man was dressed in a dark, quilted tunic, and his hair pulled back into some type of knot, a severe look on his face. He held a dark grey cloak in his hand, which Tywin knew would have the symbol of the direwolf on it.

"Lord Eddard," Tywin said, nodding at him.

The man would have his twenty-second nameday soon. He and Catelyn were the same age and perhaps suited for one another. Catelyn had none of Sansa's charms.

They would be goodbrothers within the hour, and it was another boon from this marriage. The North was different than the other regions, and it was challenging to gain any sort of traction there. This at least gave Tywin a way into the region should he need it.

"Lord Tywin," Ned said back, though no smile broke through his features.

Gods that man was dull, Tywin thought before he turned to face the assembled lords and ladies and the people of Riverrun and await the arrival of Sansa.

As he turned, he caught a look on the face of Robert Baratheon and tried to place it.

Anger? Loathing?

Jealousy, certainly.

Over this? Was he upset that he was not marrying Sansa? Or was it that Tywin had all but taken the throne from him? Had usurped his position in his little coalition that was rebelling against the Mad King?

Whatever it was, it would need careful observation. Robert was known to be loud, rude and handsy when he was in his cups, and his reputation for improper behaviour at feasts was already well established.

There was something almost cruel in the Stormlord's eyes, and Tywin thanked the gods that he'd strapped his sword to his side as he'd dressed this morning. No doubt, Sansa would think it overkill, but he would not leave her safety to chance. Glowering, Tywin met Robert's gaze, holding it, until the man turned his head, the first to break.

The sooner he was wed, the sooner this 'rebellion' ended, and Aerys was dead, their power secure, the sooner that Tywin would breathe easier when it came to Robert Baratheon.

For now, the man remained an unknown entity and not one that Tywin would take his eyes from.

Sansa

Sansa eagerly looked in the mirror as her handmaiden put the finishing touches on her hairstyle. She'd chosen to keep her long red hair loose, in a half braid in the center of her head with a few flowers woven in it and the rest curled, so it flowed down her back.

Conversely, her sister had incorporated her hair into an elaborate up-do that Sansa thought made her look older than her twenty-one years. It was a severe look and not at all what Sansa would have wanted for her wedding day.

There was no dissuading Catelyn, though, for she seemed determined to do everything opposite to Sansa.

Her gown was dark green, whereas Sansa's was bright gold.

Her hair was up, Sansa's was down.

Sansa had eagerly packed up all her belongings into trunks and happily shipped them off to Tywin's rooms, while Catelyn had protested and said she still had 'time' after the wedding to sort through such decisions.

Sansa was almost bouncing in eagerness to get to her husband, whereas her sister was quiet and reserved.

Of course, Sansa had realized that her sister was nervous about her wedding night. She'd tried to broach the subject with Catelyn but had been sneered at and told in no uncertain terms that I know what is expected of a proper lady, Sansa. I will do my duty.

Sansa had tried to explain how it didn't have to be a duty – not if Marg's stories were anything to go by. Cat and Ned had sent each other shy glances over the past few days.

Yes, Sansa was a virgin, and no man had ever gone there, yadda, yadda, yadda. But she was ready to be a wife and to have a wedding night!

She had fooled around a little bit with her one boyfriend during the summer before her graduate studies, last year. She did have a little experience, and she was from the future.

Anyone who had cable, or for god sake, the internet, knew a thing or two about sex!

Not only that but, under Marg's gentle prodding, Sansa had also branched out of her little bubble and had a vibrator after Marg had dragged her to a sex shop on her twenty-first birthday. Sansa felt quite sophisticated that she'd taken her pleasure in her own hand, so to speak, when she couldn't find a man to do it for her. Or at least a man she'd wanted.

So Sansa knew a thing or two about orgasms, and pleasure and the male anatomy, and she wished to hell that Catelyn would just open up to her about all of this. She could make this so much better for her sister if she would just take down some of her walls and quit treating everything like a competition!

But no – her sister had locked down like a clam on the subject and refused to speak of it at all.

Sansa hoped to god that Ned Stark had some tricks up his sleeve for her uptight sister.

Not that Sansa blamed her – she was a product of her time and upbringing, but she was trying to help her and Cat just would not listen to her. It was so frustrating!

All of this anticipation of her wedding night had presented another fascinating problem for Sansa in the past.

Namely - body hair.

Marg had gotten Sansa into the habit of waxing during the last year, and thankfully, the last thing Sansa and Marg had done before she'd left Lannisport was visited their favourite waxing spot.

Sansa was about three weeks out from her last Brazilian and thank the gods not too furry, yet, down there. She was never a very hairy woman, so she could often go months between waxes, and the hair had started to come back finer and thinner. So she had no worries there. Likewise with her legs, which she'd also waxed. She'd noticed she was the ONLY woman of THIS time NOT to have hair there and wondered what Tywin might think.

She wanted to think that her long, smooth legs wrapped around his body would be welcome, but it was something different and another reminder of the time she was from. Perhaps he wouldn't like that.

Going into her wedding night, Sansa had finally worked up the courage to get Barba to procure a razor that the men used for their faces and help her with her armpits. Sansa would be mortified if Tywin saw her with hairy pits, even though she knew she was way far out of the bounds of grooming for this time.

She didn't care a wit – she would be shaved and plucked to her very demanding specifications before her wedding. She would not be furry on her wedding night!

Barba, bless her soul, had been a deft hand when it came to what Sansa wanted and helped Sansa with the razor. And then Sansa had learned that ancient Westeros women, who cared to, threaded their eyebrows.

She'd whooped with glee at this information and had happily settled in, allowing Barba to clean her up!

Both Catelyn and Lysa had been aghast watching Barba do it for Sansa, but the results had been totally worth it for her perfectly sculpted brows.

Now, if only she had her foundation, setting powder, blush, eyeliner and mascara, she'd be set.

Which had led her to a whole other world of thinking. There had to be some over here that were already into make-up and dyes for hair. Westeros seemed much more 'buttoned up' and sexually repressed than a place like Essos.

Perhaps if plans worked out and she was Queen, there might be some merit into making those inquires.

For now, Sansa was pleased with the results and eagerly awaiting the ceremony to start.

She had wondered briefly how this ease and eagerness with Tywin had come about.

Less than a month ago, she'd been a broken-hearted graduate student, without a boyfriend, living a very modern life in the North.

Now she was embroiled in a political rebellion meant to topple a king and marrying arguably the most powerful man in the entire realm.

Willingly.

Happily.

Eagerly.

She wanted to by Tywin's wife the same way she'd wanted, no needed to move to Lannisport to study him. There was a pull, a draw to this man that was simply undeniable.

She could argue that it was living in ancient Westeros that was forcing her hand – that she had no choice but to go along with this marriage to save herself, but that would be dishonest.

She wanted this. She wanted him. She wanted the man.

She hadn't been lying when she said she'd choose him in any lifetime. If he'd stepped into her life in her time, she would have moved heaven and earth to have this same outcome.

Because it was Tywin, and he was meant to be hers. She believed that down to the marrow of her bones.

So as she was escorted towards the Sept, on the right side of Hoster Tully, Sansa had a brief pang of guilt, and longing, wishing her real father could be here to see her get married.

She had no idea how her father would have reacted to all this business of time travel and ancient customs. Sometimes, she could look at Lord Eddard Stark, and pretend for a single moment that he was her father, but that never lasted. And in truth, her father would most likely have never managed to adapt to this time period.

Then she shook herself from her musings and drew upon the excitement and anticipation she was feeling for becoming Tywin's wife and the good stuff that took place after the vows were exchanged.

Compared to Catelyn, Sansa was glowing, while her sister's face still appeared worried and slightly apprehensive, a bit pinched and drawn.

Sansa desperately wished that they somehow could have bonded better, so that she could tell Cat that Ned Stark was a good man. By all accounts, other than the issue with Jon Snow, Ned and Cat had been the gold standard in ancient Westeros when it came to marriages.

But there was no time, as they were through the garden and at the doors of the Sept, where Sansa heard the prayers of the Septon. It meant the ceremony was about to start, and they were to be taken inside.

The moment was upon them, and in a few short minutes, Sansa would get a new last name! And a husband. If only her friends could see her now, she thought.

Hoster squeezed her arm and smiled down at them, looking quite pleased with himself, completely missing that Cat was shaking like a leaf.

"Ready?"

"Yes," Sansa said, eagerly, wanting to be married! She couldn't wait to be Tywin's wife.

Tywin was like sex on a stick, and the man had her panting since the moment he'd swaggered into the castle here at Riverrun and declared his intentions for her. It would be disappointing if he didn't live up to what she'd built him up to in her mind. Very, very disappointing.

Soon enough they were walking up the aisle towards the two men, as different as night and day, standing at the front, waiting for them.

Sansa barely noticed the beauty of the Sept, focused only on Tywin. His verdant eyes locked onto hers, and there were no doubts, not a single one, that this was the man for her. Sure, she'd had to travel back in time to find him, but damn, he was worth it. His gaze practically smouldered, and Sansa shifted slightly, trying to ease the ache between her thighs.

Could they skip the feast? Just have food sent to their room? Feast on one another? Surely that was acceptable, right?

When Sansa finally dragged her eyes away from Tywin, she observed Ned. He was looking at Catelyn with a reverence that Sansa had only seen in Tywin's eyes, and she knew this man would love her sister – that he would be good to her and not hurt her.

Reassured, Sansa turned back to Tywin. To anyone else, he might appear cold and standoffish. For her? She knew he was just trying not to throw her over his shoulder and be done with this entire ceremony so they could finally be alone.

When Hoster finally placed her hand on Tywin's arm, a rightness settled over her, and she smiled up at him.

"Hi."

His eyes shone brightly, though his lips did not twitch. He was, after all, Tywin Lannister. He had a reputation to maintain and all that nonsense. But she knew he wanted this, wanted her. He'd come for her, the moment he knew she was here.

Then she heard his words, soft and only for her.

"My Sansa."

Her heart full, Sansa settled to listen to the Sept, knowing one hundred percent that she was doing the right thing and marrying the man of her dreams.

The Wedding and Feast at Riverrun: Tywin

She'd worn his colours. It was the only thing that Tywin could think as he watched her approach him. His colours! That more than anything reassured him that Sansa wanted this marriage as much as he did.

Her hair was left loose, and long and compliment the resplendent golden gown that adorned her body. She was practically glowing at him as Hoster Tully escorted her down the aisle. There was not a single doubt in Tywin's mind that this woman wanted to become his wife which settled the very last of his nerves.

He had been concerned that he might only be able to see Joanna when Sansa arrived at the Sept, but his first wife was tucked away, in his heart and his head, a distant and pleasant memory, one he would not forget, but one that he could now move forward from.

Because of her.

Because of Sansa.

The woman that was beaming at him, this woman so out of time and yet, Tywin was being to suspect, so perfect for him. She was his future and his salvation.

For a second, he worried if she'd been instructed in the customs of their wedding ceremonies, but the moment the Septon called out and told Tywin and Ned to cloak their brides, bringing them under their protection, Sansa's lips twitched.

Of course, she knew what was to happen. She'd probably studied it. She was so clever that her mind was as much a fascination to him as her body.

"Rather archaic don't you think," she whispered to him, as his fingers worked her Tully cloak loose and draped the Lannister red around her shoulders.

Gods, she was a vision, all gold and red. All that was missing was something he'd had crafted for her, some type of jewellery and gems that would declare to the entire kingdom that Sansa was his!

Then she winked at him, and he knew she was okay with things. In fact, she seemed to be excitedly drinking it all in.

"Mine," he whispered and watched her cheeks flush and her breath hitch.

Good. She wanted him at least as much as he wanted her. Tywin risked a glance at Catelyn, who appeared almost frozen, just going through motions.

Unlike Sansa who was beaming! Standing before him, Tywin knew that Sansa was excited, confident in her power, her intelligence and soon, her new place in Westeros.

She was his match, he realized, not cowed by him or this time period.

And gods, was he excited to find out what that meant for their future. This woman would make a worthy wife to him and his house.

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness to the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

Tywin let the familiar words wash over him, wondering what Sansa was thinking about all of this. He was sure she'd talk his ear off later, perhaps when they were finally, blessedly alone.

The Septon lifted their joined hands and tied a ribbon that was stitched with red with gold lions, around them and, in doing so, said, "Let it be known that Tywin of House Lannister and Sansa of House Tully are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

Tywin risked a small glace at Sansa, and he saw her lips curve into a small, fierce smile. Gods, she was magnificent, was all the could think.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity," and he unravelled the ribbon, letting it float to their feet.

The Septon then commanded them to "Look upon each other and say the words of the Seven."

Tywin and Sansa turned to each other, hands still clasped and looked into each other's eyes. He wanted to ask if she knew the words, but she gave him a slight nod, so they repeated simultaneously, "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger."

Why did this feel so monumentally different than when he'd wed previously? Was it because this was his choice, whereas Joanna and he had been assumed? Because his power was that much greater now, even with Aerys still in control of the capital? Was it Sansa herself?

Whatever the reason, Tywin felt moved during this ceremony in a way he could not previously remember.

Then Tywin said, "I am hers, and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," while Sansa looked directly at Tywin, eyes alight with love and repeated, "I am his, and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days."

He gave her a tiny smirk and saw her roll her eyes. He'd pay for this, he knew. Yes, she had to adhere to these ancient beliefs and customs, but alone? Tywin knew her to have firm opinions on the role of women and their equality to men.

When they had both repeated their vows, Tywin's voice then carried, "With this kiss, I pledge my love," and leaned down to kiss Sansa before the gods and their family. It was no chaste kiss. Instead, he poured his desire and longing into the kiss, letting those gathered at Riverrun see how much he cared for and desired his new wife. Lingering, he pulled back slightly and looked into her eyes, seeing her trust in him.

Perhaps one day, the words would be real – that he would come to love this woman. For now, they were simply part of the ceremony.

Still, he couldn't help himself, and he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Wife."

She turned, eyes twinkling as if she was having the most fun, and said, "Husband."

Gods, that word and from her lips! She was his wife! His!

Tywin tucked her hand in his as they stood and watched the same ceremony proceed for Ned and Catelyn, although if he did say so himself, there was hardly any spark there. While Tywin was preparing to depart for the Rock at first light tomorrow, with Sansa, Ned would be leaving with his men, including Robert and Jon Arryn and shoring up their defences and position for the battle to take place at the Trident.

As if she could read his mind, Sansa sighed as they watched the chaste kiss that Ned gave Cat, which was nothing like how Tywin had kissed his wife.

"Gods, I hope they find their way," she murmured, and Tywin squeezed her arm. Soon enough, that was done, and they were being shepherded towards the Great Hall once again.

His nose told him before he arrived that fucking trout was on the menu again tonight, and Sansa giggled as his put out look at the meal for their wedding feast.

"When we get home, Sansa, you will understand why such fare is displeasing to me," Tywin said, eager to show her the richness of the Westerlands and not just the gold.

There were apricots and dates, olives and peaches and even on occasion lemons that grew in glass gardens. They had fish, but it was white fish and cooked succulently in oils from the different olive groves in the West. They had perfected, in Tywin's mind, baking with an abundance of tasty bread and pastries. The meat there was flavoured and seasoned differently, and all but fell apart on one's tongue, and the freshness of the food was something Tywin dearly missed.

He had a port nearby and enough gold to import whatever he liked and enough arrogance to believe he deserved it. And he couldn't wait to share that with Sansa.

But for tonight, for his wedding, he'd suffer through yet another Tully feast of fish.

Sansa reached under the table and grasped his hand, giving him a knowing look.

"I'll never feed you trout again," she said, making it a solemn promise.

The sudden realization that he was no longer alone, that he was, once again, a man with a wife, flooded through Tywin, making his insides feel warm and fuzzy. He would never be alone again, and even something as silly and as unimportant as his preference in his meals- that someone else knew what he liked and would ensure he received it - well, it had an overwhelming impact on him.

Tywin had long ago conceded that he was a better man with a wife, and though he'd been young when Joanna died, there had been no one left in Westeros to spark any interest for him.

Until now.

"Sansa," he said, voice low and raspy.

He wished he could adequately express himself, but he was not that man. It wasn't that he couldn't be verbose; it was that he chose not to be. Tywin often felt that a well-placed rebuke, following by a blistering insult and then silence worked better than spouting off for hours on end.

That and he was a man of action. He trusted action; it was definable and measurable, unlike words.

Still, for her, he knew he'd try to express himself. She seemed to like to talk about everything and anything. She was insanely curious about this world, and he knew that was an untapped well of information just waiting to be unleashed. But more than using her for that knowledge, Tywin had truly enjoyed their conversations.

He was lost in his own musings, missing the endless speeches and posturing that happened at feasts. He knew he was not quite a welcome guest here, beyond perhaps Hoster Tully himself liking having him here. The man had finally gotten what he'd wanted.

But others, like Robert, had most likely lost when Tywin had shown up at Riverrun. The lion had finally roused himself to the game, and he was the true master. And not everyone would like that or accept it. He'd upended some very well thought out plans, Tywin knew.

After dessert had been served, it was Robert, who was clearly deep into his cups, that stood with a goblet of wine. There was a stain on his doublet, and Tywin swore food in his beard, and he shuddered to think of such a brute of a man with a woman like Sansa. She leaned in closer to him, worry in her eyes.

There was a look in Robert's eye that Tywin could not miss – it promised that Tywin would not like what was about to come out of Robert's mouth. Tywin was a moment too late to stop him, as the vitriol came spilling out.

"This is not our golden lion's first wedding. Poor Lady Sansa, a pale imitation of the woman that Tywin Lannister once loved," he began, eyes full of jealousy and rage, a cruelty there that was impossible to miss.

Tywin was almost vibrating in rage at this man. How dare he!

"Still," Robert said, contemplatively, "It was said that Lady Joanna was a beauty, who caught the King's eye. Was that true, lion?"

Sansa was squeezing his hand so tightly, Tywin worried she might harm herself. He was beyond rage and knew that one day, Robert would pay with his life for what he was saying here.

Robert took another hearty sip of wine and continued.

"While I am no King, I heard it said that King Aerys once demanded First Rights on your wedding night Lord Tywin."

Shocked gasps rang the Hall, as if no one could quite believe this was happening. And no one was stopping him.

Tywin's entire body tensed, and he felt the fury settle over him, clearing his head of all thought but how to utterly destroy Robert Baratheon for this.

Sansa gripped Tywin's hand harder, and he squeezed it back, looking to Kevan and Tygett. They, too, had stayed sober and had their hands on the pommel of their swords, which, thank the seven gods, they had not relinquished for tonight.

"If I were King, it might be something I'd implement," the big man said, winking at Sansa, who had paled and was visibly shaking. The leer was unmistakable, and the man licked his lips and gripped his cock.

Tywin rose and knew the picture he presented. In theory, Robert was bigger and stronger than him. But Tywin was fast and quick and skilled with a sword, and if the man dared touch a single hair on Sansa's head, he'd take his.

"He's got a live one in you, doesn't he, you redheaded little bitch, leading him around by his cock," Robert continued. Ned and Jon now stood, both of them tense and upset with their friend.

"I can imagine he'll fuck you good and hard and then forget about you, leaving you at the Rock."

"Robert, stop," Jon hissed at him, glancing nervously at Tywin, who was locked onto the Stormlord.

Robert's glance stole over to Catelyn, and Tywin glanced at Sansa. She gave a tiny shake of her head, as if to tell him he could not kill Robert right now, though the man had given him plenty of cause.

Frustration gnawed at Tywin, as he realized Robert was talking again, now looking at Sansa's sister.

"If I were King, I'd have both Tully bitches in my bed, impregnated with Stag seed to make the realm strong!" he roared and then promptly tipped over, so deep into his cups, he'd now passed out drunk.

His loyal men hurried to take him from the Hall, while Hoster Tully shook with rage.

Tywin stalked towards Eddard and Jon, the fury clear on his face. He leaned in low to both men.

"He is a disgrace to his name and not worthy of his title, nor his position. We may need him for this upcoming battle, but if he so much as looks at my wife again, I'll cut his fucking cock off and stuff it down his fucking throat until he fucking chokes to death on it."

Both men nodded grimly at Tywin. They knew Robert had crossed a line tonight. There was no coming back from this. Tywin Lannister was a man that took revenge seriously. A Lannister always paid his debts.

"Do I have your pledge for when I take the throne?" he snarled at the two of them. "Here and now, I want it again."

"You do," Ned said, shaken by the fact that his best friend has just, essentially, threatened to rape his wife and her sister in front of the entire nobility present.

"You do," Jon said, regret filling his voice. He opened it again, and Tywin shook his head.

"Do not make an excuse for him. He is out of control and would destroy us all should we let him take the throne. As it is, I leave at first light with my wife. Lord Stark, I would suggest," Tywin said, clear it was no suggestion, "That you keep your wife as far from him as possible. Keep her here, at Riverrun, or allow me to take her to the Rock. She is not safe with him around."

Hoster had joined them at the point, coming down off his high chair and agreed with Tywin. Ned glanced to where Catelyn was being comforted by Sansa and gave a short nod.

"She can stay here. Once we have won, I will come back and take her to Winterfell then."

"Good."

Tywin spun away from the men, needing Sansa now. He was done; with this place, with that man, with all of it. She was not safe around a man like Robert Baratheon, and he would not stand by and watch another man threaten his wife.

"Come," was all he said, holding his hand out to her.

He said nothing moving quickly towards his room.

He had half a mind to find Robert's drunken body and deal with him tonight.

"We can't," Sansa whispered as if reading his mind.

When they were there, he snarled at his man to leave and then, finally alone with her, bit out, "Why not?"

She shrugged helplessly.

"He kills Rhaegar, and I am not sure we have anyone else in a position to do so. We need him, at least until that battle is won. It is the decisive one in the war, Tywin."

"Can it not be anyone else?"

"Who?" she said. "You will march to King's Landing, and Aerys will think you are coming to help guard the city. At the last moment, Aerys doubts you, but Pycelle convinces him to open the city gates. It is how you take the city, Tywin."

He growled and stalked through the room.

"And there is no other way?"

"I don't know. We've changed things, right? So I have no idea. For all I know, this could change things – us, our marriage. It was at the Trident that Robert declared his intentions, and yet this has all 'sped up' in this timeline. So I don't know. What if Aerys hears about us and does something to Jaime? What if Aerys demands you sooner? What if Robert betrays us? I don't know, Tywin." Her voice caught at the end and he finally focused on her.

Tywin realized, probably too late, that she was shaking, and he cursed himself. As much as he wanted Robert's head, he now had a wife. That had just been threatened. Pushing down the rage, he moved quickly, drawing her into his arms, where she settled easily. He was shocked at how right it felt to have her there.

He was so angry that Robert had stolen the joy from the wedding feast, that he almost missed it when Sansa's hand came up to cup his face, scratching at his whiskers and drawing his attention back to her, back to his wife.

"Sansa," he growled.

"There he is, my lion," she said, a little tilt to her head.

"Hi," she murmured, touching him.

He arched into, allowing it to soothe the most jagged edges of his temper.

"Wife," he said, his brain racing to catch up to his body.

Then she leaned up and captured his mouth in a kiss, pushing out Robert and any lingering thoughts of a previous, ruined wedding night.

"Make me your wife, Tywin," she demanded when she finally let his lips go. He could do nothing but obey her command, lifting her easily in his strong arms and striding to the bedroom, where he placed her gently before leaning back.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

In her eyes, he saw his own need reflected, and he gave a curt nod, rising quickly to attend to the fire, before he would return, to make Sansa, his wife in every single way possible.

Tywin's Bedchambers: Sansa

Sansa's blood thrummed with anticipation. How long had she waited to find a man worthy of giving herself to?

Years really, when the average age her friends were losing their virginity long before now.

The biggest issue with why she was still a virgin was that Sansa had never met anyone where she'd had a spark with them.

With Tywin, it felt like her entire body was on fire, and she wanted this man in a way that she had never felt before.

Had she thought she'd be married and living hundreds of years in the past when this happened?

No, never.

But there was something to be said about a man that knew what to do with a woman, who wasn't some bumbling idiot or a cocky jock just looking for the next notch on his bedpost. Tywin was so much more than anyone she'd ever met, and they belonged to each other.

Tywin was all growly possession and heated gazes, and she swore had Robert NOT passed out drunk, Tywin would have taken his head for what he dared to say tonight.

Robert was such a vile man, worse even that how history had portrayed him, and Sansa shuddered. She hated him as she hated a few people in this time, but seeing Tywin stand there, ready to defend her, with a sword no less! It was heady stuff for a woman that came from a time when men hardly opened doors anymore.

This man was one who would start a war for those he loved, those he considered family.

It was swoon-worthy stuff, and the wetness between her thighs indicated her body and her brain were in perfect accord on this issue.

Despite the ugliness at the feast, Sansa still wanted her husband. As she watched said husband bank the fire in their room, she pushed all thoughts of Robert from her mind. She was wed to Tywin, and she would be his wife, and after tonight, no one could tear them apart.

He turned back towards her, all leonine grace and power. She just about melted at the sight and hurried to the edge of the bed, just as he was reaching for his doublet.

"Let me," she said, her hands coming up to undo the buckles there. She brushed his hands away, slipping the metal hooks off, and then rose up on her knees to help him remove the doublet. Or she tried but was bogged down by this damnable wedding gown. It looked great, but like most clothing back in this time, it was a giant pain in her ass.

She growled and felt a small laugh from Tywin.

"What is wrong?"

"This dress. It's so cumbersome."

"Then perhaps we should take it off," he said, and the tone in his voice has Sansa's eyes flying up to his. His desire clearly matched hers.

"Perhaps we should, My Lord."

Because she was at the perfect height kneeling, Sansa watched as Tywin's cock swelled in his breech's and holy Hannah banana! The man had to be packing.

Good lord, she thought, licking her lips in anticipation.

She hoped to hell this wasn't false advertising, because Marg had told her over and over again, that if a man had a big cock and knew how to use it, he could make a woman see stars.

Sansa was fixated on his crotch and reached a hand out to touch the bulge there, not even caring if this was proper or not. Tywin would just have to deal with her and her curiosity. She cupped him through his pants and felt him grow.

Sansa grinned.

Then his hand was there, stilling hers.

"Sansa," he ground out, his voice sounding almost pained. Wondering if she'd done something wrong, and knowing that men liked this, she glanced up at him.

"What?"

"Please, let me undress you," he said, and it dawned on her that the stories from history must be correct about him not using whores!

Tywin appeared very close to the edge, and she'd barely touched him. God only knew what he might do when she finally got her lips around him. Wanting more, wanting to see him naked and for him to see her, and just wanting – no needing this, she scrambled to her feet and brushed her hair back.

He was there in an instant, his long body ranged over hers, as he was standing at her back. He lowered his lips to her exposed neck and pressed gently, barely feathering a kiss there, and her legs shook. Actually shook, like jelly.

"Oh gods," she moaned and arched back into him.

"Easy, little one, I've got you," he said, using a term of endearment for the first time.

Sansa had known the words of 'love' during the ceremony where just that – words that made up part of the ritual. They were not there yet, either one of them. But oh man, was she falling fast and hard for this man.

His kisses continued as his hands reached around, cupping her breasts through the fabric of her gown. She felt her nipples harden into little peaks. She wanted his mouth there, sucking on her, she realized as he was still kissing her neck, alternating between little licks, nips and kisses. She wanted his mouth everywhere in her.

"So responsive," he said, unable to hide the awe in his voice.

"Well, yeah. I've waited a long time for this moment, Tywin."

He still for a moment. "So, you are a maiden?"

There was, shockingly enough, no censure nor judgement in his tone, as if he'd been prepared, based on what he knew of the future, to have her say no. Sansa thanked the gods she was, for this was something she was happy to give to him, to share with him. She turned, still clothed so she could face him head-on.

"Yes. I mean, I've done a few things, but never intercourse."

He frowned at the word intercourse. Things were, Sansa had discovered, much cruder back in this time. They hadn't quite gotten around to using the anatomically correct terms for private parts yet. Everything was cock and dick and c you next Tuesday. And fucking. Gods, she'd heard that word so many, many times since she'd come back to this time. Bronn would fit right in.

"I've never been intimate with a man in that way, Tywin. I've never had a man's member," and blushed brightly at using that word, "Inside my …" oh god, she could NOT use the C-word. No way, no how.

He rumbled out his approval and captured her lips again.

"I understand."

Nothing was said, but she could tell this pleased him, and he continued his explorations, until he finally, blessedly moved his hands towards the stays on the back of her gown. She was almost panting in need by now and needed it off! The room was hot, she was aching, and she wanted to be naked with her husband.

"Hurry," was all she said, as he laughed and tugged until it dropped away from her. She stepped out from the heavy fabric and then turned, watching her husband's eyes widen, and he took in her small clothes.

Sansa grinned. She'd demanded Barba find her something a little more sexy than the day shift that she usually wore and thank heavens that someone back here had the good sense to make tiny little knickers, garters and a bra type thing out of lace. It wasn't La Perla, but for this time period, she might as well have been a Playboy bunny for how Tywin was looking at her.

"Like it?" she said and ran a hand down between her breasts, then cupped them, plumping them up.

Tywin growled.

Like an honest to god, full-on growl and then pounced. She was beneath him, on the bed as he all but attacked her in the best possible way. His hands and lips were everywhere, his whiskers leaving marks on her skin that he soothed away, until there was another nip and then another. He was muttering her name, like a curse or a chant, and she didn't much care which one it was, not when he was making her feel ALL the things!

She kept her own hands busy, tugging at the tunic he wore, until he finally snapped and ripped it off his body, rendering Sansa momentarily speechless.

They may not have gyms back here, but hello muscles.

He was all lean, elegant grace, with just enough scars and gouges to remind her that this man had fought in literal wars. He was no prim and proper lord, but a man that had spilled blood, had put himself in mortal danger and emerged the victor. Talk about a turn on! Sansa felt like he was a feast for her sense and nipped and sucked at as much of his flesh as she could find, distracted until he made it to her breasts and rose over the top of her, stilling her hands.

"How do I take it off?" he asked about the bra. She wiggled and showed him the little clasp, which was open in a second, then the lace was gone, and he just stared at her – stared so long she started to think that perhaps something was wrong with her.

"Tywin?" she asked, unable to hide her worry.

"Gods, you're beautiful," he said, and the raw honesty in his voice had her believing him.

"I want to fucking worship, you Sansa. A man should know when he has something precious in his bed, in his life. But I'm afraid it's been too long, and I want you too much to take this as slowly as I'd like."

And there went her heart, Sansa thought, as she became a melty pile of goo beneath him.

She could smell her arousal; knew she'd be slick and wet, and years of riding horses had most likely destroyed her hymen years ago. Yes, she was a virgin, but she was not a blushing maid that was afraid of her husband's desire. He was hard as stone through his breeches, and he needed her, she knew. Just like she needed him. They were matched in the best possible way.

"We have a lifetime to do this any way we want, Tywin - tonight is whatever we need it to be."

It must have been the right thing to say, for he moved then, taking a turgid nipple in his mouth, drawing the peek deep inside and sucking on it with his talented mouth.

"Tywin," she said, her hands coming up to pin his head to her as he alternated breasts until her entire chest was heaving (yes heaving like she was in some romance novel), and the tips red and wet.

"Mine," he said, and then went lower, kissing his way down her slim stomach. Sansa thanks the gods for her years of yoga; she's always been slim, but yoga had toned her and given her incredible flexibility. She wondered what Tywin might think of some of the poses she did if she were to show him her daily routine.

Then all thoughts of that fled as he was sniffing at her core. Sansa could smell herself, so obviously he could. She wondered if he'd be put off by it, that she was so ready for him. And she wondered if he was just testing the waters so to speak, to see if she were ready for the main event. In her limited experience, men did not seem to like going down on a woman, although they all seemed to love receiving oral attention.

Marg had waxed poetic about Bronn's oral skills when it came to that and Sansa secretly hoped that maybe Tywin was like Bronn – a man that actually liked doing that.

"You're so perfect," he was saying, drawing her attention back to what he was doing, as his fingers hooked on the tiny panties and tugged them off, over her slim hips.

Then the man stilled looking down at her. She knew she was groomed in a way he'd likely never seen – only a small neat patch of red curls and thee rest just gone, bare for him to look his fill.

"What is this?" he asked, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he might reject her.

"Uhmmm, well, where I come from, this is what women do. Or some women. It's a personal choice, really, but one I like. I hope you do," she added, suddenly shy.

What if Tywin hated it?

He reached a tentative finger out and touched her, and her legs fell open, so nothing was hidden from him. Sansa wanted him to see all of her. Then his green eyes were on her, the golden flecks even more prominent.

"Why do women do it?"

"Well, bathing suit season is one reason. Yoga. Running. And most men like it."

She knew he wouldn't understand half of what she'd just said, but he latched on to the last piece of information.

"Men like this?"

"Well, there is less hair if they … well, you know… if they want to go down on a woman."

Tywin frowned as if assessing her words.

Her face was beat red, but she held his gaze, seeing the slight confusion there.

"Go down?"

She nodded and pointed to her weeping center. "You know… if want to put their mouth there."

Understanding dawned. "Ahh, you speak of the Lord's Kiss."

Sansa, being the historian she was, had heard of it. But it still made her giggle. "The Lord's kiss?"

His eyes narrowed at her giggle, and she wished she'd held it in, but she simply couldn't. It sounded awfully hoity-toity for what a man was doing.

The Lord's Kiss.

Marg would be dying, Sansa knew, hearing Bronn say that to her.

"Perhaps a demonstration is in order," he said and then before she could say anything more, his mouth was there. On her. Sucking her and tasting her. His tongue was doing wicked, wicked things and making her arc up off the bed, to get more.

"Tywin," she begged as he alternated between her clit and her vagina.

He was relentless, and she felt him slide one finger, and then a second inside her, opening her up, making her grind herself on him. All thoughts fled but chasing this pleasure that this man, who was her husband was giving her, so she just gave herself over to it, to him. She did nothing to control how he made her feel, sinking into the sheer indulgence of having a man that seemed to love doing this to her, take her where she'd never been as she peaked.

When she was floating down from that first high, he ranged himself over top of her, a rare smile on his handsome face.

"The lord's kiss," he said, full of ego and confidence as if he'd just won a bet. "Because I am your lord, Sansa."

Her core clenched and demanded more, that easy, arrogant confidence just doing it for her.

She grinned, then shocked him as she grabbed his mouth and smashed it against her, tasting herself on him and moaning. She ran a leg up to his body and realized he was still in his breeches, and that would not do. As much as that orgasm had been lovely, and she'd quite enjoyed it, Sansa wanted her husband inside her and claiming her the way she needed him to do.

Quick as could be, she flipped them, so he was laying there and then shimmied down his body.

"I need to see all of you," she was muttering, working at the stays on his pants and then gaping as he moved his hips, so his member sprung free.

No wonder he had the ego he did on him.

Tywin Lannister was packing. Long, thick and pulsing - a thing of wonder and Sansa barely noticed him kicking off his pants, so focused was she on hin. She had never seen anyone so lovely as him, and her entire core clenched with need at the thought of him, inside her.

She couldn't help herself as she wrapped her hands around it and then leaned down to take the tip that was weeping in her mouth. He looked so good that she just had to, and she heard him curse as she worked him deeper, hallowing out her cheeks to suck him hard and long.

"Fucking seven hells, Sansa," he groaned, and she knew that if she wanted, she could make him come just like this. The sheer power of that, of knowing he liked what she was doing, had her slowing to a more leisurely pace. There would be time, so much time, to have him every way she wanted. For now, she knew they needed to have actual intercourse. There would most likely be an examination of the sheets in the morning, which was just so embarrassing and such a violation, but such were the times.

So reluctantly, she pulled her mouth from his and crawled back up his body, leaning down to kiss him, hard.

"Someday soon, I want to continue until you peak, Tywin." His eyes blazed, and he carded his hands through her hair.

"Gods, what am I going to do with you?"

"Keep up," she said, nipping at him.

He flipped them again, so she was beneath them, and his legs spread hers, so she felt him nudge her entrance. He was slick, and she was positively soaked with her own desire, so she knew this wouldn't be miserable. Still, he paused, looking deep into her eyes.

"I don't want to hurt you," he rumbled softly.

"I know. But we must, and then, I know you will make it all better. I've waited for you, Tywin. For this moment. Make me yours in every possible way."

It was the perfect thing to say, as he nudged inside her. He was slow but methodical as he coated himself in her spendings and pressed further and further inside until she felt him stop against the tiny barrier there.

Huh.

She really hadn't been expecting it, but there you go. She saw the reluctance in his eyes, so she arched her hips, using the power in her legs, to all but impale herself on him, and felt him slide through the barrier, burying himself deep inside her in one swift movement.

The shock of pain was bright and quick and then gone as he once again stilled. His eyes were locked onto hers, both wonder and concern there.

"It's done," she grunted, moving slightly, wondering when the good part came. She felt full and slightly uncomfortable. Instead of moving right away, Tywin nuzzled at her neck and reached a hand up to thrum a nipple back to a peak.

"So beautiful, Sansa," he said, sucking at a sensitive spot that sent a bolt of desire straight down to her core, where he was lodged. Still, it felt good, and when he added his fingers to tweaking her nipple, her hips moved on their own accord.

And – oh! Wait! What was that? Sansa thought, her hands reaching up to stroke down Tywin's back. She felt the corded muscles there, how tight he was and how much he must be holding back. She moved her hips again, and pleasure spread out from her midsection. Then he moved, pulling back and stroking down, deep inside her again, and that pleasure exploded across every single nerve ending in her body.

She moaned, turned her head and found his lips.

"More, please," she said, and he grunted and did it again, and again.

Over and over, until all that could be heard were their pants and grunts, as the two of them moved in an ancient rhythm. There was something so profound about it, Sansa thought, that the first time she made love with a man, it was with someone who'd pledge his life to hers. She was swept away in it all, clinging to him as he brought her up again until that peak that she was seeking was right there.

"Fuck, Sansa, I need…" he grunted and brushed his fingers against her nub and pinched.

She simply shattered in his arms, feeling him drive into her again and again as she tightened on him and drew him in deeper. It was as if her body never wanted to let him go, and he strained until he too, finally went stiff and then bellowed out her name and pumped her full of his seed.

More sated then she'd ever been, Sansa barely reacted when Tywin kissed her necks, her lips, her eyelids that she'd closed. She giggled and opened them, finding him staring at her.

"I didn't hurt you?"

Oh gods, this man! What he did to her. He was going to completely remake her until she was something new, something better than she'd been.

"No, Tywin. I've never felt better in my entire life."

Of course, when he pulled out, she winced slightly and was a bit shocked that there was both blood and semen on the sheets. He found a warm washcloth and cleaned her up, and then as if he knew what she might be thinking, regretfully stripped the bedding.

"They need to see," was all he said, and she nodded, helping him remake the bed and then rushing to use the chamber pot and wash before she joined him back in bed. She hadn't pulled on any clothing, liking how his eyes watched her move naked across the room. She was sore in the best possible way, and when she got to bed, she was pleased to see him open his arms to her. She had been worried that he might take a different chamber from her, now that the deed was done, so to speak.

She snuggled deep into his embrace, loving how close he held her, trying to reconcile everything that had happened.

She was married to Tywin Lannister. She was no longer a virgin. And they had done nothing to prevent a possible pregnancy.

How was this her life? She thought happily.

Then the sheer emotion of the day, the ups and downs, the fact that for the first time in three weeks since she'd been flung back in time, she finally felt safe and all because she was in Tywin's arms, made her eyelids droop. She had just enough left in her to reach for his hand and kiss it and say, "Thanks for the best wedding, my lion."

His chest rumbled and she sunk further into him, as he leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. "Sleep wife, for tomorrow, I take you home."

Home. With Tywin. She was going to see Casterly Rock, and she couldn't wait.

She was now Sansa Lannister, and she finally, once again, had a place in this world and family to call her own. And it was all because of the Great Lion, a man Sansa knew she was in danger of falling very deeply in love with.

As sleep claimed her, all she could do was surrender willingly and pray that her knowledge and his power would somehow give them leave to navigate these perilous times in which they found themselves living in.

Still, she wouldn't trade it for anything, not the danger and not the unknown. Because she'd found the man she'd meant to be with; she'd just had to travel back in time to do it. And nothing and no one would ever make Sansa give him up. Tywin Lannister was hers, and she meant to keep him, for all her days.